you must not see what I am about to do.'

"'It must be something very wrong then,' I said, 'and I hope
you won't do it.'

"'Why not?' he muttered. 'What's it to you? I'm going to hang
myself; but you must not tell, for they'd come and cut me down
and punish me very much.'

"'Perhaps they would,' I said; 'but not so much as God will
punish you if you do such a wicked thing.'

"'It isn't wicked,' he answered. 'Nobody loves me or cares
about me. They won't let you play with me, and, perhaps, when
I've hanged myself, they'll be sorry for it.'

"'But I'm sorry for you _now_,' I cried; 'and though I must
not play with you while you are naughty, I will play with you
and love you very much if you are good.'

"'Are you sure you will.'

"'Quite sure, Robert.'

"'Well, if you do I don't much care who doesn't. But mind if
you don't love me I'll hang myself.'

"'But I will, indeed,' I said; and all the time I staid at my
uncle's, Robert was very good, and we played every day
together. After I went home again I did not see him very
often. When he came to us he always brought me some little
present of his own making; and he had a great turn for cutting
things in wood with his knife. About three years ago he made
my grandmother angry, I don't know how, but she would not let
him come and see us any more."

"And he is now in America?" [I] asked.

"Yes," replied Alice. "My grandmother told me he was gone to
New York a few days before I was married. I should have liked
to have said good-bye to him. How like that man in Piccadilly
was to him!"

We reached home just as Alice said this; and I felt glad that
I had not told her that the man she had seen must have been
the same who had dodged us, and that it could have been no
other than this Robert Harding, whose countenance had remained
indelibly impressed on my mind; but I resolved at the first
opportunity to tell Henry of this circumstance, for I felt
afraid of this man, and anxious to know whether his return to
England was a secret to the rest of his family as well as to
Alice.

When the post came in the next morning, we received letters
from Elmsley. Edward's to me was kind and affectionate, but
short and hurried. He had written a long one to my uncle, full
of all the details connected with his canvass, which promised
to be very successful. One phrase in this letter particularly
attracted my attention:--"Henry's exertions in my behalf, and
anxiety for my success, ar